


Fuck the Police

by kassanovella



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, Flip Zimmerman is Still a Bastard, Handcuffs, Inappropriate Use of a Truncheon, Reluctant Creampie, Verbal Humiliation, When Anti-War Protesting Goes Wrong, When I Said Fuck Cops I Meant FUCK COPS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27718861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassanovella/pseuds/kassanovella
Summary: It was unwise. But you couldn’t help yourself from spitting in the pretty cop’s fucking face.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Comments: 68
Kudos: 242





	Fuck the Police

“Hey, come on. Let’s move it.”

You spun, face bumping the flannel chest of who you could only assume to be a plainclothes cop. Frowning, you put your hand on your hip, lowering your sign. He was hot--probably hotter than most or any of the cops you’d seen in this town, with his aquiline nose and pretty-moled face. But that didn’t make him any less repugnant to you.

“No way,” you replied. “What we’re doing is perfectly legal.”

“Sure, if you were on public property,” he said, “but you’re not. This is a privately-owned convenience store.”

You frowned. “The store’s owner donates to an organization that supports the Vietnam Wa--”

“Doesn’t matter. Private property. Get moving.” He tried to usher you forward.

“Hey!” You sneered, bucking off his gesture. “Watch it, officer.”

“It’s _detective_.”

Your friends laughed, and you rolled your eyes.

“Whatever you say, _detective_.” He made to move you again, and you growled. “Don’t touch me. What’s your name and badge number?”

“Flip Zimmerman.” He rattled off a bunch of numbers--you couldn’t hear over your friends’ laughter. “Get _moving_.”

Your lip furled. “No!”

A flash of anger in his eye. It was dangerous. Stirred something along the length your spine. But you were undeterred. 

“You want to make this a game?” he said. “Go ahead. Try me.”

“Fuck off!”

Zimmerman snarled. “You think--”

It was unwise. But you couldn’t help yourself from spitting in the pretty cop’s fucking face.

The next moments happened in a flash. _Detective_ Flip Zimmerman wrested you by the arm, big hand crushing your joint as he whipped you around and slammed you chest first against the nearest wall. You hollered in protest, curses flying from your mouth, your fellow demonstrators crying for him to let you go. In desperation, you wriggled, throwing your shoulders back, but he flattened his body along yours, his weight suffocating you. You swallowed, jerked back again, your ass driving into his crotch--Zimmerman grunted, and you could’ve sworn he rutted in return. 

Heat stoked you. No, there was no way this fucking pig was turning you on right now. But as you struggled, his breath quickened, his grip tightened, his body heavy over yours. A stupid, disgusting, horrible instinct ordered you to squirm, a tiny, near-silent whimper escaping your throat. He huffed, clicking one of the cuffs around your wrist. His chest was heaving.

“You’ll be okay!” called out one of your friends. “You’re a fighter, give him hell!”

 _Hell_ was certainly how you’d describe feeling a stiffening arousal at your backside. Or maybe _hell_ was the hot, errant streak of lust that ripped through your thighs. 

“Fuck this!” you hissed. “Fuck the police!”

Zimmerman cuffed your other wrist, yanked you against him by the chain. Under his breath, ragged and furious, he muttered, “Shut the fuck up.”

A whine hitched. “Fuck you,” you replied, barely audible under the shouting of your friends.

He didn’t reply, shoving you off and leading you by the restraints down the sidewalk. You cast a glance behind you, watching as your friends jeered your arrest, wondering why your heart was knocking in your chest _and_ between your legs. Zimmerman was big, fucking _strong_ , his breath smelled like tobacco and he had a disgustingly sexy gentle curl to his lush, dark hair. The firmness of his hold on you made you want to fight him. 

It also made you want to fuck him. But you would fight that urge, too. 

You smirked. He was leading you around the corner, far from the protest. “Your car can’t be that far away, can it?”

“Shut the _fuck_ up.”

You laughed. “Fuck. _You_.”

Zimmerman paused, stalling you in your tracks. “You know what.” One huge step to the right, and he dragged you at his pace, forcing you to jog to keep up. He led you toward an alley. “Fine.”

In three long strides, you both disappeared into the corridor, shadowed in silence and secrecy. He was panting, now, as he shoved you into the brick and rolled his hips against your ass. Against your better judgement, you moaned--whatever he was packing, it was fucking _huge_. Zimmerman bruised your flesh as he grappled with your hips, finding the button for your pants with his thick fingers. He was still without words, the only sounds escaping him the excited desperation of desire.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, working your pants down your legs. “You fucking wanted this, huh.”

You bit your lip to trap a gasp. You wanted to say no. But the pulsing ache at your pussy was saying _yes_. Zimmerman grumbled to himself, his hand fumbling under your belly, crawling between your thighs. Writhing, you closed your eyes, hating that he would discover just how wet you’d become. 

“Fuck,” he said. “Knew you were a little slut. You types always are.”

You shivered. “Knew you were a rapist,” you replied. “Cops always are.”

Zimmerman’s other hand clapped over your mouth, and he stuffed two of his fingers between your teeth. “Shut the fuck up.” He teased your clit through your underwear with a single digit. “You’re dripping for me. Fuck.”

Whining, you couldn’t help the need to suck at his fingers--so you did, grinding your ass onto his hard, clothed cock. He choked on his own lust, hips pitching in an attempt to relieve his arousal. His hand left your cunt, and you heard the jingling of something behind you. You thought, at first, it was his belt--until you felt something hard and smooth and cool wedging between your legs.

You tried to object, but his fingers muffled any noise. He stepped back to angle you forward, bending you at the waist, the object pushing your panties to the side and nudging between the swelling lips of your slit. Heart skipping, you wailed, shaking your head, but Zimmerman jerked you in reprimand. As you felt a blunt end find your entrance, you knew, in an instant, what it was.

His baton.

Zimmerman grunted, pushed it in, and you groaned, deep and low, clenching around the cold, unforgiving wood. He chuckled to himself--you could practically _feel_ his eyes watching the tight walls of your cunt grip it--and pulled it out, humming in satisfaction.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he said. “Too bad you haven’t earned my dick. Would probably love sinking it into this pussy.”

You moaned, for some reason nodding, even though you weren’t even sure what you were really agreeing with. The both of you seemed too enthralled by lust to care--he slid the baton in again, stretching you deep, and you throbbed around it. Drool dribbled down your chin, coating his hand, spilling onto the ground. The sensation was enough to roll your eyes back, to spin your head with greed. Another thrust in with a lewd _squelch_ , and Zimmerman snickered.

“You hear that?” he said. “You love it.” He fucked you faster, the wood sliding hot and easy into your needy cunt. “Fuck. Be quiet for me.”

Without another warning, he released your mouth, pushing you forward so your cheek met the brick. You groaned, hearing another jingle. Now _this_ was his belt. Zimmerman kept his pace with the baton steady, the friction at your walls numbing your legs with bliss. Juices ran down your thighs, your muscles trembled from strain. And then you heard him curse under his breath as he wrapped his hand around his cock.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the detective fisting his shaft, his cheeks red, his jaw slack, hand stroking in rhythm as your pussy swallowed his club. You snuffed a groan, your throat thick, the air thicker. He was entranced, hypnotized by the sight--he slowed, pulling out, watching your cunt fight to keep the weapon inside, and then plowed through, relishing the shock of pain that rippled through you. His breath was tattered with desire.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “Fuck, yes. You like that.”

Jaw shaking, you could do nothing but nod and gather every single ounce of strength you had to not howl in pleasure.

“This pussy likes getting fucked by anything.” He was spitting the words between his teeth. Pre-cum gleamed in the dim light of the alley, and he slicked it over his cock. “Doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you whispered, which was really more of a squeal. “Yes, yes, it does.”

“That’s right.” His hair fell into his eyes, and a groan rumbled in his chest. “Shit, you look tight.” He plunged the baton faster, deeper, huffing. He snarled. “Fuck it.” 

A clatter on the concrete, two big hands snatched your hips. Seconds later, Zimmerman’s massive, throbbing cock split you open. A shuddering groan of disbelief fled his throat, and you screamed in the back of yours, eyes shut tight. One long stroke out, and he slammed back in, pounding your cunt with hard, furious thrusts. More drool rolled over your lips, this time from the heady rush of pleasure, the absolute perfection of how fucking thick his dick felt inside your pussy.

Zimmerman was possessed--every thrust earned a grunt from his chest, every smack of skin quaked your body with force to steal your breath. You whimpered, begging yourself not to whine. But then a finger found your clit, swirled it with a calloused pad, and you snapped. 

For a moment, you were boneless, but he held your hips, fucking so deep that he pierced your cervix. Sharp white pain melted into pleasure, and you pleaded, panted for more under the noise of your connecting flesh.

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s it. You wanna cum? You wanna cum on my dick?”

Sweat slipped down your nose. You nodded. “Yespleaseyespleaseyesplease--”

“Yeah, good.” His finger moved faster on your clit, his cock hammering you deep. “Good…”

You nodded, mouth open with the flood of euphoria--Zimmerman was muttering behind you, _take it, take it_ , and you were, you were taking every single fat inch of his dick and it was rending you open and making you limp and emptying your brain of everything but the primal need to fucking cum.

“Fuck, Flip,” you said, because you weren’t sure what else to call him, “I’m--I’m--”

“Cum on me,” he growled. “Let that little pussy squeeze my cock.”

A harsh, fast rub of your clit, and you released, biting your lip so hard it bled. Euphoria wracked you, and you shook to your core, clamping over and over on his length. Zimmerman groaned, working you through it, pistoning his hips as you spasmed around his shaft.

“Shit,” he hissed, “shit, shit, dammit--”

His voice hiccuped in his throat as your pussy pulled him into his climax, cock still buried inside, pumping you full of his cum. His fingers gouged your hips, his own rocking with the remnants of his orgasm, his shaft pulsing at your entrance as he spilled the last of his seed inside of you. Cursing, he heaved with latent anger, pulling out of your sore cunt. You felt his release leak onto your thighs.

A zip. A jingle of a buckle. He was still catching up on oxygen. “You on the pill?”

You swallowed, cheeks buzzing. You wanted to pull up your pants, but your hands were still cuffed. You felt utterly helpless and exposed.

“Um. Yeah,” you said. “I. Um. I am.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Good.” 

In silence, he popped the lock on your cuffs, and your arms were released. You yelped in relief, slumping against the wall, and he shuffled behind you, letting you straighten onto your feet. You waited for your breath to even before you moved, blushing while you wiggled your pants above your thighs. When they were finally in place, you turned to face him, rebuttoning your waist.

But no one was there. The alleyway was empty. The air was cold. The baton was gone. 

And so was Detective Flip Zimmerman.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to dedicate this fic to every single person who loves fucking fictional police officers who are played by Adam Driver.
> 
> (this is sloppier than usual, and more drabbley than usual, yes, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.)
> 
> Love y'all VERY much.


End file.
